Wonder Woman
by emeralddusk
Summary: How do you go from a self-harmer to a hero? How do you prove yourself to the world?


_It's like a dream...but it makes me weary, you know?_

Wonder Woman

Chapter One: Who I am

_ I feel warm today; the sun is bright over the city, even though it's frozen outside. My hair is alittle shorter now than it used to be; my emotions more stable. It was about a year ago everything started to clear up...When I started struggling every day to become myself again; my real self. The one that was almost swallowed by anorexia, bulimia, and scarring my body. It all started when I was eleven...even though no one can prove it._

_ Eleven...I was that young when the kids in my class started mocking me...viciously insulting everything about me; I wasn't safe. Nothing I loved or held dear was sacred to them. I hadn't done anything. If nothing else, I knew that. However, even that went away. "Why are you being so mean to me?" I begged, fighting back tears until it hurt. "I never did anything to any of you!"_

_ "Cuz you're fat," one of the nastiest girls blurted out, her voice cold. Thinking she was so bold, the other kids started laughing. My face turned blood red and felt like it was on fire. My throat hurt, my body started to turn numb, and my arms were trembling. Suddenly, the mild hunger in my stomach turned into nauseous shame within myself. All I wanted to do was run out of the room, cover my eyes, and keep running._

_ Of course, this wasn't the first time I was bullied. This wasn't the first time I wanted to cry all alone and hate myself. But this time, it was horrible...I had never once looked at my body as anything but beautiful and my own before...but not even that was okay. Every time I saw those kids, those words buzzed in my brain like a rabid wasp: "Cuz you're fat. Fat. Fat." Maybe I wasn't beautiful; maybe I didn't have the right to walk around like I had confidence. Anymore, I didn't, anyway._

_ A couple of days later, I locked myself in my bathroom, pulled my shirt off, and stared at myself in the mirror for twenty minutes; my stomach; how it bulged out in the center. My arms, and how flabby they looked, especially compared to those other girls. My chest was underdeveloped, but pudgy. I grabbed at my cheeks; they squished together like puddy then dropped slightly, much to my horror. "...I'm ugly," I whispered, forcing what was left of my heart to break. I had to change this; it was so disgusting...I was so disgusting. Pressing into my stomach, I felt fat and flab. I didn't have any discipline, any self-control. I wanted to cry._

_ For the next few days, I was in a daze; things were piling up, I was suffering so much. One second; one wonderful second of the day, I was happy. Not happy enough to make a difference. Then, before I could express my emotions or do anything cheery, it was gone; I was upset, angry, or just to depressed to do anything. Soon, over time, the happy moments became shorter and shorter, until they didn't even exist anymore. Maybe my emotions had always been like this; shifting...sometimes it hurt. What was worse, I hated myself; maybe that's what made it so intolerable. Maybe my mind was always working against itself; feelings betraying one another...but the self-love I treasured rescued me. It didn't matter now, because it was all gone._

_ I was starving...my stomach was so empty I wanted to vomit...not that that would be much better. The acids were churning and splashing within me; trying to consume my body from the inside-out. That went away, though, and it turned into vicious cramping and pain that made me want to double over and crawl into bed. Days went by slowly; one meal at a time, then one hour at a time. Day after day, I saw nothing; no results, no weight lost, no beauty gained. I would never be what I wanted...no one would stop laughing...I would never be perfect. _

_ After so long...I didn't even care; starving myself was just what I did. I was numb by the time I was twelve. Numb was better than pain, I thought. How could anything be worse than hating myself and being scared of other people. At least, that's how it felt at that time. The next thing I knew, I was missing emotions. Why? I hated them, felt hurt by them so many times. Why did a preteen have to beg herself for emotions? I forced, and I forced, begging for an emotional response to anything. Soon, every hour was spent trying to feel; trying to understand what it meant to feel. Finally, and so suddenly, I was having bursts of introverted anger, which made me sick to my massively-engulfing stomach. Then, I would get upset. No one could know, though; I had to put on a happy act...if only for my parents' sake. I wasn't really happy anymore, and I found myself begging to be numb, safe, and at ease with my spirit again...However, it didn't happen._

_ Emotionswere so powerful...so dangerous...they hurt me so much; they filled me, trying to find a way out of my body._

_ Looking at my long black hair in the mirror, I caught another girl pulling her sleeve over her arm; the arm that held a long, thin, jagged red line she'd carved into herself. Not that much later, I saw the news programs; a fad known as embedding was becoming infamously popular with teenagers. It looked so painful...jabbing into your flesh, forcing a cold foreign object into the soft, weak tissue, then burying it away to swell and swarm underneath it all. I saw her scar every day...then looked at my bloated, puffy self in the mirror, became ashamed, and stopped caring about her. But I was jealous of her; I could tell she wasn't dying from an emotional overdose like I was. How could she be?_

_ I knew that scar wasn't natural; it was so hidden, so precise, so perfect...so planned. She did it to herself. Why? I wanted to know why, but I wasn't in a position to talk to many people back then. How did she do it? What did she use? She wasn't embedding, because I couldn't see the foreign object roughly merged into her skin. She cut herself...by the looks of it, she cut in the same place time after time. I could feel her tender, raw gore in my own body. I wanted that for me; to ease my pain...Anything would be better than wallowing in it all, like the filthy pig I was. _

_ Surrounded by darkness, I stared at myself in the mirror; my pale skin, my auburn eyes, and my long, raven-colored hair that draped down in shining streaks over my ugly shoulders. I wiped a tear from my eye, then pressed the thin, shining pocket knife against my arm. It was so chilling; so direct. So sharp...like it was knifing through my numbness...letting out all those horrid emotions. Blood swelled up around the blade. I cried; I couldn't help it, but it felt amazing. _

_ My parents wouldn't understand; how could they? This was different than anything they ever could've gone through. So, that's how I decided to live my life. I kept secrets, I made up lies...Lie after lie._

_ "Hey, I'm heading off to school," I said, quickly walking out the door._

_ "Did you eat breakfast, honey?" my mother asked, as caring and concerned as always; that always made it harder to lie to her._

_ "Yeah," I lied right to her face. "I had a granola bar and a glass of orange juice right when I woke up." With that, a smile, and a quick kiss, I was out of the house. I hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday._

_ Friends? I had afew; Selena, Tracey and Olivia. However, school was a living nightmare. Selena was the only one who made it bearable, and I thank heaven for her every day... at least I used to. The two of us were together when we starred in a school play together (my mother's idea), and that's how all this started. There was me, Allison "Sonny" Monroe; cutter/anorexic discovered right in the middle of a school play and working on one of the highest-rated sketch shows on television, So Random!_

_ Unfortunately, Selena didn't get the same job, and we grew apart as our work did. Our friendship was just like everything else; gradually fading...supplemented by other problems I was having. Between faking being happy, finding time in-between sets to cut, and negotiating long-sleeved outfits for my wardrobe, I just didn't have time to miss her. I knew that made me a bad person, so I started cutting deeper and deeper to make myself forget. Or maybe I was doing just the opposite; maybe I was punishing the monster that was growing inside me. Maybe I could bleed it out..._

_ Tawni, Bridget, Grady, Nico, and Chad warmed up to me pretty fast; Tawni took slower than the others, but still. Since we shared a dressing room, we had little choice but to become friends. She was jealous, I could tell. I was younger, more energetic, and more funny (lord could I fake it), but I wanted us to be friends. So, I let her 'show me the ropes', even though I knew all of them. She loved the idea of teaching me; being the one who knew what they were doing._

_ The people loved me; funny, fresh, fit, pretty, grounded and clever. Like they had any idea. What fit, pretty girl threw up her lunches every day (yeah, it came to that) just so it would be easier to tell her friends she actually ate? What fresh star had to keep pretending she wanted to keep doing their show time after time, even though I didn't even want to leave my bed most days? No one saw through me; they thought I was just like everyone else...it was kind of nice. No more people hated me. I was safe hating myself. And, that's the way it went for about a year or two, then the scars started showing up more and more. I was cutting more than ever, going deeper and deeper. Finally, people started to notice. My fans and friends who I'd lied to defended me; saying the cuts were just marks from bracelets._

_ It took so long; I felt like I was frozen in this place. However, something happened...I started feeling worse and worse, especially when I was cutting. I didn't care, though. I could die for all I cared. Every single cut, every half hour wasted cutting or scratching was the last time, but I'd always crawl back to it. Finally, I decided to tell someone; maybe it'd stop the worthless days, the sleepless nights, something. So, I told my parents; I walked down the stairs in a tank top, showing off all of my dark, red scars; all the pain I'd caused myself. "Mom, Dad," I said, my voice weak from throwing up not that long ago. "I need to tell you something." Later that same day, I was admitted to an all-girls rehabilitation center. According to them, I was in near-critical condition. Severe melnutrition, extensive self-harm, and some minor infections (brought on by cutting with dirty blades, I guess)._

_ "Hey, bud," greeted a familiar voice. I looked away from my ceiling, slightly wrinkling my white gown, and saw my old friend standing in my doorway._

_ "Hey, Selena," I croaked out, smiling a weak smile. Since I stopped throwing up, my throat started healing, but my voice was stil weak._

_ I thanked heaven for Selena; she was the one person who actually came back into my life. When my parents couldn't make it, she was there. In fact, she was the only one I played the tape for; a song I made when I decided to go to the hospital. It's called Skyscraper._

_ After about a year, the nurses had taught me how to live without cutting, starving myself, or purging. Then, they taught me how to live independently. Finally, I had to teach myself how to reintegrate into society. Most of my scars healed, but the doctors told me some of them would stay because of prolonged tissue damage; I could live with that. Above all, I learned that hate would always exist in my life, but that didn't matter. On what I felt was a more tragic note, I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Over time, though, I learned that discovering that led to my getting to a "normal", healthy state again (or maybe for the first time in my life). Selena and my parents were the first ones to find out before I told the world. At the time, I was obsessed with letting out all of my secrets. I don't know how people took to that, though._

_ To make my recovery even more difficult, my parents got divorced around the time of my release; Dad moved to another part of the country, and Mom was on her own. Since my leaving for rehabilitation was my official retirement from So Random!, I moved back in with my mom, and started settling into a whole new way of living. Skyscraper's still sitting on my dresser, waiting to be played; its lyrics kept crumpled up under my bed to be read when I need them. Still, they are all but gone to me. I'm over my problems for the most part; I hide the scars the best I can, I eat as much as I need to so I can keep at a healthy weight, I stopped making myself sick, and I'm taking medication to help regulate my emotions. My feelings aren't distant or dramatic, but they're here, and I can live in them every day now._

_ That pretty much brings us back to where we started out. Sometimes, to make a difference, we have to go back to the beginning; to find ourselves..._

Sonny brushed out her long, raven-colored hair in front of the mirror, then walked down to the living room. The last few days had been so dreary; so repetitive, and so strange in a sense. However, she kept going. Somehow, without any reason, method, or explanation, the teenager felt today would be different; break the dead stride, and create a worthwhile memory. "Sonny," the young woman's mother called out, her voice calm and laced with her usual emotion. "You got a letter in the mail."

Sonny walked out into the kitchen, catching a brief glance of the bright day outside. "Thanks, Mom," the girl said, caught off guard to a degree. Taking the envelope, Sonny walked into the living room, sat down on the couch, and started reading over the letter. Suddenly, her hands began to shake, and her eyes opened wide. "What the..." she whispered, shocked beyond all reason. "This...this doesn't make any sense. Mom!"

Realizing what had just happened, Allison's mother raced into the living room, let her daughter read the note (although she knew what it was), then held her close. There was a history...not Sonny's background, not her pains and rehabilitation, but something more; the entire origin of her existence. Everything so impossible...every forgotten memory that held so much meaning, but so much mystery and discomfort...it was all coming back into the woman's life, and entering her daughter's. Sonny was shocked, unable to accept what sounded like a fantastic fairy tale gone horribly wrong. None of it made sense; nothing about it was rational. For that, the raven-haired girl was afraid.

Legends told of the Amazons; a mystic group of women living, serving, ruling, and rising to power in a matriarchal society. They were strong, independent, a family; they were smart, beautiful, and completely self-sufficient on their island, known as Themyscira. Their leader was, and had been for over one thousand years, Queen Hippolyta (a character Sonny remembered from Midsummer Night's Dream), who seemed just below a goddess. In the earliest of years, Hippolyta was alone on her enchanted island. Her parents having died shortly after her birth, the woman grew up completely on her own. She lived off the land, built weapons to hunt the more hostile of creatures, and taking refuge among the calm ones. Despite her hardships and pain, the soon-to-be queen learned about the power of nature, of love, and of destiny. It wasn't long before wars in surrounding lands brought her orphaned daughters, widowed mothers, and new responsibilities. Traumatized for the most part, the women were re-educated by Hippolyta; their dependence on men slowly vanished, their love for one another grew, and a new race was coming to birth. Soon, the Amazons were born. Under Hippolyta's powers, new children were born, becoming Pure Amazons. Unfortunately, most of the humans died, leaving only the young and pure. Hippolyta was greatly scarred and rendered still for years. However, the young and aspiring goddesses learned how to thrive on their own, building a society in the way of woman. When Hippolyta awoke from her long slumber, she found her children had grown, and were ready to succeed her as queen. Seeing this, the woman gave her blessing to the Amazons, then departed into the heavens to join her mother, Aphrodite, and the High Sisters. So, the Amazon society was brought into existence without any aid from the outside world. However, their numbers began dwindling over the years, and they once again called upon their queen to help them. So, Hippolyta returned to her home, and saw the clay figures the women had made to ease thier loneliness; children. As a final act as queen, Hippolyta brought life to the clay figure. However, after seeing the world beneath the heavens, the queen made a decision; the Amazons could not remain idle on their island. So, the youngest of the Amazons was brought to America, raised as a human, and would become the first ambassador to the outside world.

Despite her calling, despite all of her training, the woman fell into an unexpected snare; love. The world of man had taken its toll on her, and she wed a young man. Outraged, the Amazons gave up, and remained hidden from the earth. However, the young Amazon woman remained close to Hippolyta, the only one who understood her, and dedicated her only daughter to the memory of the Amazons. Her daughter, Allison Monroe, under the mantle of her father's family, lived a blessed life. But, much like her mother, found pain and change in the world of man. Now, according to the letter she read, Sonny was needed, as the newest generation of Amazons, and the first (and possibly final) ambassador to the outside world.

"But...I don't understand," the young woman said. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Dad..."

"He didn't know," Allison's mother confessed. "I kept the secret to all but my mother. I'm so sorry...but I never thought they would need you."

"Did you...abandon them?" Sonny asked, growing upset.

"No," the Amazon woman answered. "But I failed their cause." Gently putting her hand on her daughter's back, the woman felt a lump welling up in her throat. Sonny felt the same. "But it was worth it to become your mother...I'm so sorry...if I could take this from you, I would...This is all my fault." Closing her eyes, the raven-haired girl leaned into her mom's shoulder, and cried. It was so terrifying; how could she, Allison Monroe, the failed actress, the unwanted teenager in every school she went to, possibly take up such a mantle? How could she be one of those powerful, brilliant, free women? How could she carry the burden her own mother could not? What was she?

"...Why me?" the girl asked, so nervous and upset. "I can't even take care of myself."

"Yes you can," the teenager's mother replied, showing faith in her daughter. "And you have. _You_ went to rehab..._You _decided to come out with your problems...You helped so many people by letting them know they weren't alone. All the problems you've had, you turned them into opportunities for other people to get better. You can take care of yourself and those around you. I know you can, Sonny." The woman wiped a tear from Allison's eye.

"Thanks, Mom," Sonny managed to croak out, embracing her mom; letting her take all of her sorrow away from her.

Staring at her reflection, the raven-haired girl raised her hands, looking at the scars on her wrists. _I wasn't trying to kill myself...But I felt like, if I died, I wouldn't care._ A massive lump began to swell into Sonny's throat. _What do these scars mean? That all my problems are my fault. That I have to deal with this. _The teen dropped her arms, and looked at her reflection; Her body was toned, healthy, not as skinny or withered. Her hair shined more than it used to, her face had more vibrance and less signs to exhaustion or sorrow. Since her release from rehabilitation, the girl had started eating healthier, and was now the picture of health. _It's okay...Everything's fine now. _Slowly, the girl walked out the door, turning off the light behind her, and not looking back. According to the letter, someone would come get her in the morning.


End file.
